Boys Brushed In Red... Living in Black and White
Title - Boys Brushed In Red... Living In Black And White
Author -
trashcancore
Pairing - Pete Wentz/Brendon Urie.
Rating - See warnings
Summary - Perfect is a perspective. In Brendon's eyes, Pete is perfect only in his moments of what other people call imperfection.
"On nights when you look like this, I wonder if I'm in love with you."
Disclaimer - Not real. But very nice if it was, I think.
Warnings - Nothing too graphic, but character death. Paranoia.
Author notes - I made this one for Stanze,
perilprincess , because despite that she doesn't like Pete Wentz, she does enjoy the pairing Pete Wentz/Brendon Urie. And because this fic reminds me of us.
A perfect moment caught on camera. It was the only way Brendon knew how to describe that picture. Pete's smile, his eyes; truly lit up for once. Laying on the ground surrounded by empty beer bottles and a turned over glass, probably knocked over when Pete fell to the ground laughing. Brendon was on his side, looking at him, face hidden while Pete's was the centre of attention in the photo. Perfect. Nothing new to those who didn't know him any better. To Brendon, Pete looked like a different person. It was one of those moments described by their favorite bands- those long summer nights falling asleep with friends around, feeling butterflies and seeing stars. Perfect. Just like Peter. At least in everyone else's eyes.
To them, he was the embodiment of the perfect teenager. He made good grades in school, came from a good family, was going to a good school, had manners, a part time job and everyone just liked him. That was always so important. What they saw when they looked at Pete. He didn't want them seeing past the façade, the perfection. They would never see this photo. He would have forbid it, because as far as they knew, he didn't drink. Didn't fall over laughing and have another boy land on top of him, also drunk. Peter didn't have sex with mentioned boy at the party and then the next day go back to being friends. He wasn't that person. Not to them. Only to a handful of people; only to those who carried on the same act.
Behind closed doors, when it was only Peter and Brendon with a bottle of vodka and a packet of cigarettes, it was a different story. Peter was flawed. He was pained. He was real. Together, they lived the cliché. Best friends with big smiles by day. Alcohol, sex and cigarettes by night. With them, there wasn't any perceptions. Just reality. Just the two of them, doing what they needed to do to feel something about themselves, not what was expected of them. Their fuck buddy status had started that night. The night of the perfect moment and the perfect photo.
"You're a retard. You know that, right?"
That's what Brendon had asked Peter as they laid on the hard floor, laughing at their own tumble. He insisted that it had completely been Peter's fault. He always tended to blame him right before flashing a cheeky smile and an innocent batting of eye lashes to assure that he didn't mean it.
"You love me. Even if I am a retard. But you're a bigger one, so don't talk."
Brendon laughed at that, hit the other only before burying his head into his chest. Pete's arms automatically wrapped around him, right before his own body began to shake with laughter. Assuming it was just Pete being drunk and stupid, Brendon ignored it for a while, content to lay there and commit the moment to memory. Pete smelled of deodorant, shampoo and cigarette smoke. It was oddly comforting.
"Don't you want to know whats so funny?"
"Do you want to tell me?"
"It's shit like this that makes people think we're more than friends."
“Who cares what they think?”
“I do.”
“Why do you care so much?”
In that moment, a sense of being offended overcame the younger of the two. How could Pete be bothered by people thinking that they were a couple? Had Brendon been more sober, he would have probably cared more too. He moved to get up off of him, but once he raise his head, Pete locked their eyes together, making Brendon freeze almost completely.
“If they thought you were my boyfriend, they would think they knew what we have, when they can never even come close. They can have me, I don’t care, but they can’t have us. That’s mine”
“They will never have us. I promise.”
Silence filled the room again and Brendon laid his head back down onto the warm body under him. They never talked about them. When they were together like that, the act didn't exist. It felt wrong for the both of them to admit to the game. Sensing the tension, Peter spoke up.
“My parents told me to get over my phase and get a girlfriend.”
“That was random.” Brendon wasn’t sure how to react.
“Like we would ever have sex.”
“Oh, am I not good enough for you or something?”
It was teasing, but Brendon couldn't help but wonder what he'd say. He never expected the answer given.
“You’re too good for me”
There was a feeling of inexplicable urge to prove Pete wrong. To show that they were equals, that no one was better for him than Pete. Brendon had no idea of what else to do. So he kissed him.
***
The next morning, they decided it was a once off. Just something that happened, a drunken mistake. Only it continued to happen every so often, when Pete needed someone to really see him. Every time there would be fresh scars on his body. The shoulders, the thighs. Never where anyone but Brendon would ever see them. That would be too close to him being imperfect. To Brendon, it was a testament of his perfection.
He met someone in college. Pete smiled for the world, and for her. People are only just as happy as everyone else seems to think they are. She didn't see him though. Not the real Pete. Brendon was still the only one who saw that. It made him feel good that he was the only one allowed to see Pete in his moments of weakness. He cared enough about Bren to let him see past the act. The fact that he was so incredibly fucked up was like their dirty little secret. But as it good as it felt knowing that he could keep the secret of Pete from the world, Brendon still didn't fully understand.
“Why do you act around them?”
“If they saw me like you do, they wouldn’t understand.”
“You don’t know that.”
“They would ask questions, they would say I need help. They would be disappointed. You don’t ask, Bren, you always just know.”
That's when Brendon realized that he too was wearing a mask. Only, this one wasn't for the world -it was for Pete. He thought Brendon understood. He thought Brendon understood why things were the way they were. He didn't see that maybe Brendon was just as lost and confused as he was. Maybe he didn't want to see it; or, maybe like him, Brendon had gotten so good at lying that there was nothing to see anymore. With that thought, a pool of ice formed in Brendon's stomach and he stiffened. Took a drag from Pete's cigarette before wrapping the sheets around him, stood up and walked out of the room. Not looking at that perfect photo he kept beside the bed, the one that had caused such thoughts.
In the bathroom, Brendon stared hard at the mirror for what seemed like hours. Examining his face, trying to see where the real him was gone. There were dark circles under his eyes, lips and hips bruised from Pete's kisses. The light was harsh and unforgiving, showing him only to be gaunt and sunken. How had he never seen himself like this previously? It was like looking at his own ghost. Was this how other people saw him?
"Keep staring at yourself like that and it's considered being vain."
Pete stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an amused look in his eyes. When Brendon ignored him, he silently moved behind the other, putting his hands onto Brendon's curvy hips, thumbs rubbing up and down over the bruised skin.
“When did I start looking like a ghost?”
“You look perfect.”
“You aren’t my boyfriend. It’s not your job to say shit like that.”
Pete sighed softly, eyes flickering over the boy in front of him through the mirror. Brendon's hair looked like it had Pete's hands through it. Lips violent against his pale skin and all the bruises looked like works of art. For a moment, Pete seriously wondered if Brendon had ever looked more beautiful.
"On nights when you look like this, I wonder if I’m in love with you.”
“We don’t know how to be in love.”
“Maybe. Or just maybe, this is as real as it gets. It just depends on your perception.”
Brendon looks up to Pete at that. Really looking for the first time in months. There were circles under his eyes too, bruises on his chest and bite marks across his shoulders. He looked pale in the light, despite his caramel tinted skin. He was beautiful. Kissed Brendon's shoulder before lacing their fingers together, dragging him out of the bathroom.
“Come back to bed. I want to love you.”
Author -
trashcancore
Pairing - Pete Wentz/Brendon Urie.
Rating - See warnings
Summary - Perfect is a perspective. In Brendon's eyes, Pete is perfect only in his moments of what other people call imperfection.
"On nights when you look like this, I wonder if I'm in love with you."
Disclaimer - Not real. But very nice if it was, I think.
Warnings - Nothing too graphic, but character death. Paranoia.
Author notes - I made this one for Stanze,
perilprincess , because despite that she doesn't like Pete Wentz, she does enjoy the pairing Pete Wentz/Brendon Urie. And because this fic reminds me of us.
A perfect moment caught on camera. It was the only way Brendon knew how to describe that picture. Pete's smile, his eyes; truly lit up for once. Laying on the ground surrounded by empty beer bottles and a turned over glass, probably knocked over when Pete fell to the ground laughing. Brendon was on his side, looking at him, face hidden while Pete's was the centre of attention in the photo. Perfect. Nothing new to those who didn't know him any better. To Brendon, Pete looked like a different person. It was one of those moments described by their favorite bands- those long summer nights falling asleep with friends around, feeling butterflies and seeing stars. Perfect. Just like Peter. At least in everyone else's eyes.
To them, he was the embodiment of the perfect teenager. He made good grades in school, came from a good family, was going to a good school, had manners, a part time job and everyone just liked him. That was always so important. What they saw when they looked at Pete. He didn't want them seeing past the façade, the perfection. They would never see this photo. He would have forbid it, because as far as they knew, he didn't drink. Didn't fall over laughing and have another boy land on top of him, also drunk. Peter didn't have sex with mentioned boy at the party and then the next day go back to being friends. He wasn't that person. Not to them. Only to a handful of people; only to those who carried on the same act.
Behind closed doors, when it was only Peter and Brendon with a bottle of vodka and a packet of cigarettes, it was a different story. Peter was flawed. He was pained. He was real. Together, they lived the cliché. Best friends with big smiles by day. Alcohol, sex and cigarettes by night. With them, there wasn't any perceptions. Just reality. Just the two of them, doing what they needed to do to feel something about themselves, not what was expected of them. Their fuck buddy status had started that night. The night of the perfect moment and the perfect photo.
"You're a retard. You know that, right?"
That's what Brendon had asked Peter as they laid on the hard floor, laughing at their own tumble. He insisted that it had completely been Peter's fault. He always tended to blame him right before flashing a cheeky smile and an innocent batting of eye lashes to assure that he didn't mean it.
"You love me. Even if I am a retard. But you're a bigger one, so don't talk."
Brendon laughed at that, hit the other only before burying his head into his chest. Pete's arms automatically wrapped around him, right before his own body began to shake with laughter. Assuming it was just Pete being drunk and stupid, Brendon ignored it for a while, content to lay there and commit the moment to memory. Pete smelled of deodorant, shampoo and cigarette smoke. It was oddly comforting.
"Don't you want to know whats so funny?"
"Do you want to tell me?"
"It's shit like this that makes people think we're more than friends."
“Who cares what they think?”
“I do.”
“Why do you care so much?”
In that moment, a sense of being offended overcame the younger of the two. How could Pete be bothered by people thinking that they were a couple? Had Brendon been more sober, he would have probably cared more too. He moved to get up off of him, but once he raise his head, Pete locked their eyes together, making Brendon freeze almost completely.
“If they thought you were my boyfriend, they would think they knew what we have, when they can never even come close. They can have me, I don’t care, but they can’t have us. That’s mine”
“They will never have us. I promise.”
Silence filled the room again and Brendon laid his head back down onto the warm body under him. They never talked about them. When they were together like that, the act didn't exist. It felt wrong for the both of them to admit to the game. Sensing the tension, Peter spoke up.
“My parents told me to get over my phase and get a girlfriend.”
“That was random.” Brendon wasn’t sure how to react.
“Like we would ever have sex.”
“Oh, am I not good enough for you or something?”
It was teasing, but Brendon couldn't help but wonder what he'd say. He never expected the answer given.
“You’re too good for me”
There was a feeling of inexplicable urge to prove Pete wrong. To show that they were equals, that no one was better for him than Pete. Brendon had no idea of what else to do. So he kissed him.
***
The next morning, they decided it was a once off. Just something that happened, a drunken mistake. Only it continued to happen every so often, when Pete needed someone to really see him. Every time there would be fresh scars on his body. The shoulders, the thighs. Never where anyone but Brendon would ever see them. That would be too close to him being imperfect. To Brendon, it was a testament of his perfection.
He met someone in college. Pete smiled for the world, and for her. People are only just as happy as everyone else seems to think they are. She didn't see him though. Not the real Pete. Brendon was still the only one who saw that. It made him feel good that he was the only one allowed to see Pete in his moments of weakness. He cared enough about Bren to let him see past the act. The fact that he was so incredibly fucked up was like their dirty little secret. But as it good as it felt knowing that he could keep the secret of Pete from the world, Brendon still didn't fully understand.
“Why do you act around them?”
“If they saw me like you do, they wouldn’t understand.”
“You don’t know that.”
“They would ask questions, they would say I need help. They would be disappointed. You don’t ask, Bren, you always just know.”
That's when Brendon realized that he too was wearing a mask. Only, this one wasn't for the world -it was for Pete. He thought Brendon understood. He thought Brendon understood why things were the way they were. He didn't see that maybe Brendon was just as lost and confused as he was. Maybe he didn't want to see it; or, maybe like him, Brendon had gotten so good at lying that there was nothing to see anymore. With that thought, a pool of ice formed in Brendon's stomach and he stiffened. Took a drag from Pete's cigarette before wrapping the sheets around him, stood up and walked out of the room. Not looking at that perfect photo he kept beside the bed, the one that had caused such thoughts.
In the bathroom, Brendon stared hard at the mirror for what seemed like hours. Examining his face, trying to see where the real him was gone. There were dark circles under his eyes, lips and hips bruised from Pete's kisses. The light was harsh and unforgiving, showing him only to be gaunt and sunken. How had he never seen himself like this previously? It was like looking at his own ghost. Was this how other people saw him?
"Keep staring at yourself like that and it's considered being vain."
Pete stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an amused look in his eyes. When Brendon ignored him, he silently moved behind the other, putting his hands onto Brendon's curvy hips, thumbs rubbing up and down over the bruised skin.
“When did I start looking like a ghost?”
“You look perfect.”
“You aren’t my boyfriend. It’s not your job to say shit like that.”
Pete sighed softly, eyes flickering over the boy in front of him through the mirror. Brendon's hair looked like it had Pete's hands through it. Lips violent against his pale skin and all the bruises looked like works of art. For a moment, Pete seriously wondered if Brendon had ever looked more beautiful.
"On nights when you look like this, I wonder if I’m in love with you.”
“We don’t know how to be in love.”
“Maybe. Or just maybe, this is as real as it gets. It just depends on your perception.”
Brendon looks up to Pete at that. Really looking for the first time in months. There were circles under his eyes too, bruises on his chest and bite marks across his shoulders. He looked pale in the light, despite his caramel tinted skin. He was beautiful. Kissed Brendon's shoulder before lacing their fingers together, dragging him out of the bathroom.
“Come back to bed. I want to love you.”